


The Devil's Picture Book

by manic_intent



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dark!Akira, M/M, That no powers AU where Iwai never left the yakuza, and Akira is more than he seems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 20:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10929546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: “Third one this month,” Tsuda said, as they watched the others cut the hanged man down. Iwai nodded, distracted as he lighted a cigarette, waiting for the nicotine to relax him before bothering with an answer.“Kumichowants the killer found quick. Been breathin’ down my neck.” That was an understatement. The Boss lost his temper rarely, and the morning had been an uncomfortable exception as he gave Iwai a very loud piece of his mind. It wasn’t just bad for optics: anyone wanting to muscle in on Iwai’s position knew they just had to find their resident yakuza hunter to have it.





	The Devil's Picture Book

**Author's Note:**

> I like to borrow elements from my existing stories because I get lazy with worldbuilding and because it ties all my stories together thematically, but this will be a stand-alone AU: you don’t have to read Minor Arcana to understand it. Inspired by Akira's first summoning Persona cutscene, his expression in it :O /fans self

“Third one this month,” Tsuda said, as they watched the others cut the hanged man down. Iwai nodded, distracted as he lighted a cigarette, waiting for the nicotine to relax him before bothering with an answer. 

“ _Kumicho_ wants the killer found quick. Been breathin’ down my neck.” That was an understatement. The Boss lost his temper rarely, and the morning had been an uncomfortable exception as he gave Iwai a very loud piece of his mind. It wasn’t just bad for optics: anyone wanting to muscle in on Iwai’s position knew they just had to find their resident yakuza hunter to have it. 

“I talked to our contacts in the police. They’ve got an investigation goin’ on, but they don’t have leads. They think it’s just yakuza families fightin’ among ourselves.” 

“Fuckin’ idiots.” Yakuza didn’t declare cold wars on each other. Not like this. Iwai blew out a gritty plume of smoke as the hanged man was laid on his back on the street. His neck had broken, his tongue protruding. He’d been alive when he was strung up. Iwai pulled on plastic gloves and pushed up the dead man’s sleeves. He found what he was looking for on the right arm, above the elbow. A fresh needle track. 

“Another card.” Tsuda had searched the man’s pockets. He held up a poker card with gloved fingers. Not that it mattered: the first two vics’ cards hadn’t had prints. It was a Joker card from a standard deck, and Tsuda bagged it even as Iwai straightened up with a grunt, rubbing his back. 

“Sato was a pimp, Yamada was a cocaine dealer and Ito here was in loans, yeah? Sounds like our Joker killer’s branchin’ out.” 

“Is he targeting the Hashiba-gumi in particular? That’s what I’m curious about.” Tsuda said, getting up as well, pulling off his gloves. At Iwai’s nod, the minions began quietly packing the body off into one of their cars. In a normal cleanup, he’d have them sweep the area for pesky CCTV cameras, but the Joker guy had been careful about that: all the bodies had been left in invisible zones. 

“I was gonna ask. Got a contact in the Kinokami-kai. Gonna talk to him tonight somewhere neutral.” 

“Careful,” Tsuda warned. “You got the go-ahead from the boss for that?”

“‘Course. I’m not an idiot.” Iwai pretended to scowl at Tsuda. “Been settin’ it up for days. Boss even picked the place. Some bar in Shinjuku called Crossroads.” 

“Crossroads?” Tsuda laughed. “Boss has a sense of humour.” 

“What d’you mean by that?” Iwai asked, suspicious, but Tsuda merely smirked and turned back to the cleanup.

“You probably want to change.” Tsuda nodded at Iwai’s cap, black turtleneck and slacks. “A lot of the regulars in that bar are salarymen.” 

“Said I’m not an idiot.” Iwai sighed. He’d been planning on changing anyway, even though he hated wearing suits. They couldn’t be chucked into a washing machine, and worse: bloodstains tended to ruin the fabric. 

“Need backup?” 

“It’s a neutral meeting. ‘Sides, not even the Kinokami-kai will pull something in a civillian bar.” 

“I don’t know about that.” The car with the body had driven off, the street clean and quiet again, but for the two of them. Tsuda started to walk down a side street, heading for the subway. “I heard stories about _their_ boss. Kaneshiro’s a piece of work.” 

Iwai nodded. Most yakuza families had their quirks, excesses and red lines, despite what the police might think. The Kinokami-kai, on the other hand, was notorious for only having excesses. “Relax.” 

“For a _kuromaku_ , you’re too reckless,” Tsuda said, frowning at him. “Boss talked to me about you the other day.” 

Iwai rolled his eyes. “This about findin’ me a girlfriend again?” 

“You live alone and bein’ a fixer is all you do. Not havin’ downtime ain’t that healthy.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“It’s been what, twenty years?” Tsuda was a terrible nagger. “Seriously, Iwai.” 

“I’m not a monk.” 

“Buying a girl now and then doesn’t count.” 

Girls weren’t what Iwai bought when he had an itch to scratch, but he knew better than to say that. “This is why the younger guys call you ‘Old Woman’ behind your back, friend.” He smirked as Tsuda sputtered, the lecture derailed.

#

Crosswords was a narrow bar, lit in dim shades of viscera. Stepping inside, Iwai could see instantly why Tsuda had thought the boss had been taking the piss: it was a drag bar, presided over by a portly boss in a kimono. She sized him up with a practiced eye, frowned very slightly, then smiled, careful and practiced. “Welcome.”

She had good instincts. Iwai glanced around, noted that his contact wasn’t here yet, and sat near the exit. The door’s tinted glass would make it difficult to pick him out easily as a target, and it was still early enough that there weren’t yet many people. “Whisky, thanks,” he said, keeping the boss within sight in the corner of his eye. 

“Coming right up, sir. Velvet? Where’re you? We’ve got a customer.” 

“Hai, hai.” Someone slipped out of the back room, gliding around the boss behind the counter, smiling. Iwai tried not to stare, his mouth going dry. “Neat or on the rocks?” At Iwai’s slow blink, the youth laughed, sheepish. “Eh, Lala, you’re right. Maybe I’m confusing your customers.” 

“You’d look good in drag, I keep telling you. Those hips! Those big eyes!” Lala sniffed. “You already do the clothes and have a stage name.” 

“I’m too lazy to put on makeup, get into character and do the rest of the prep,” Velvet said apologetically. “But I like wearing kimonos.” 

“ _Borrowed_ kimonos.” Lala corrected. 

Velvet was beautiful, with curly dark hair and a faint, playful smile. His black kimono hugged his slender frame and graceful hips, and from the sway of his walk, he was probably wearing heels. “Uh,” Iwai cleared his throat. “Whisky. Neat.” 

“Hmm.” Velvet’s smile widened. “What would you like? We’ve got a twelve-year Hibiki. Or if you’re feeling flush, I think we do still have a Yamazaki-eighteen.”

“Somethin’ that won’t burn a hole in my wallet would be nice.” 

Velvet chuckled. “Coming right up, handsome.” 

“Flirting, that’s new,” Lala said, as Velvet snagged a glass, then a bottle off a high shelf. 

“It’s not flirting when you’re stating the obvious,” Velvet said, and winked over his shoulder when Iwai coughed, fairly certain that he was starting to flush. Thankfully, his contact chose that moment to arrive, slinking cautiously through the door, blinking when he took in the bar, then settling down next to Iwai, grimacing. 

“Thought you said your boss recced this spot.” 

“Yeah?”

“… Nevermind.” Nakamura was thinner than Iwai remembered, his face sallow, hair combed tightly back over his high forehead, untidy in a badly made suit. “What d’you wanna talk about, then?”

“Order a drink,” Iwai said. He didn’t like nervousness. “My shout.” 

“Uhh. Fine. Shochu. Thanks.” Nakamura didn’t even glance up when Velvet set Iwai’s whisky on the counter and poured him a cup of hopefully cheap shochu. “Ready to talk now?” 

“Been havin’ some organisational problems lately,” Iwai said, trying to choose his words carefully. “People bein’ terminated abruptly, that kinda thing. Been wonderin’ if it’s the same on your end.” 

Nakamura sucked noisily on his teeth. He drank the first cup of shochu, grabbed the carafe before Velvet could reach for it, and poured himself another cup. “Fuck. You guys too? Anyone I know? Sorry. No need to answer that.” 

Iwai nodded, and waited until Nakamura drank another cup. “How many?” 

“Five.”

“Three.” 

“Shit,” Nakamura glared at his shochu carafe. “The fuck is happenin’? Think it’s the weasels?” 

“Ain’t somethin’ they’d do.” The police, even the yakuza specialists, had rules. Extrajudicial killings would be far, far outside those. Unless… “That your boss’ opinion?” 

“No,” Nakamura rubbed a hand slowly over his face. “He ain’t pleased, though. Thinks it’s some other company, musclin’ in.” 

Iwai sniffed. “Musclin’ in on _everyone_? This quiet? If there was a split somewhere, we’d have heard of it.” 

“Would we?” 

“Someone who could pull off somethin’ like this has to be damn good, and I know everyone else in the business in Japan.” Fixers weren’t exactly sociable with other fixers, as a rule, especially those from other yakuza families, but it was a small and extremely niche area of expertise, and word got around. 

“Guess you would. Who’d you think it is, then?” 

“Think it’s a freelancer.” Iwai studied Nakamura closely. He’d floated the idea before the Boss earlier, but had been shot down instantly, which meant that nobody else in the Hashiba-gumi now took the idea seriously. 

“Huh. Makes sense.” Nakamura had a distant look in his eyes. “I heard a rumour about a trash-taker, likes to frequent Shibuya and Shinjuku? Thought it was one of them urban myths. Maybe he decided to branch out.” 

“You got anythin’ more for me than that?” 

“Heard he’s a hobo. Other than that, nah.” Nakamura grimaced. “Hey. Good luck. Itō’s also on the case. Hope you guys don’t cross paths.” 

Iwai had never liked the Kinokami-kai’s fixer. He nodded. “You think this is happenin’ everywhere? I don’t have good contacts in the other companies.” 

“I’ll ask around.” Nakamura said, finished his shochu, and ducked out. Iwai watched him go, then signalled Velvet over to pay up. 

Velvet smiled brightly as he came over, leaning his elbows over the counter. “A refill?” 

“The bill, actually.” 

“Aww, you’re going already?” It was most likely an act, but Velvet sounded so disappointed that Iwai chuckled. “C’mon, stay a little longer.”

“He’s good,” Iwai told the boss, and she shook her head, chuckling. 

“First time I’ve seen Velvet get like this. But then, it’s early days yet. It’s only his second day on the job.” 

“You’re a natural,” Iwai said, patting Velvet’s arm lightly. “But I’m too old for you, kid. Cheque, please.” 

Velvet could really work a pout. If the Boss hadn’t pretty much lit a fire under Iwai’s ass, he’d have been tempted to take it up. Now, though, he paid, took the receipt, and it was only later, in the quiet of his one bedroom flat, that he realized Velvet had written his phone number on the back of it. 

“Kids,” Iwai said out aloud, to the neatened silence of a solitary life, and binned it without further thought. He didn’t need a distraction right now.

#

“Bad day?” Velvet looked sympathetic, setting a neat shot of whisky before him.

“You have no idea.” Iwai hadn’t intended to come back to the bar, but after the Boss had spent an hour shouting at him, Iwai had somehow wandered back here in a bit of a daze. “Boss was in a bit of a mood.”

“And he took it out on you?” Velvet frowned. “That’s not nice.” 

“He’s not exactly a nice person. ‘Sides, I got it. Death in the family. He was upset.” The new victim had been a distant cousin of the Boss, which had made it even more personal. 

“Doesn’t make it okay,” Velvet said, but was promptly distracted by another customer. By the time he made it back, Iwai had finished his whisky. This time he ordered another shot. 

“So what are you doin’, workin’ here?” Iwai asked, nodding at the bar. It was only partly full, and Lala was busy chatting up a depressed-looking woman in a business suit. “Nice kid like you?” 

“It’s decent money.” 

“College or high school?” 

Velvet chuckled. “Neither.” When Iwai raised his eyebrows, Velvet ducked his head, as though embarrassed. “Got disowned a couple of years back, been living by myself since.”

“That even legal?” 

Velvet shrugged. “Maybe. Probably not. I didn’t care. I’m happier on my own. Kids fall through the cracks all the time. Besides, I’m eighteen now.” 

“You’re right about kids,” Iwai said soberly. “Way back, a decade and a half ago, some lady tried to leave her baby at the… uh, the front desk of my office. Gave everyone a shock.” 

“And? What happened?” Velvet said, surprised. 

“Calmed her down, told her we’re a business, not an orphanage. Gave her some money and the address of an actual orphanage.” 

“That’s… good?” 

“Don’t know if it was good,” Iwai admitted. “But I didn’t think I… ah, any of us were really up to takin’ care of a baby.” Especially given the lives they led. “Poor kid. Sorry to hear about your parents, too.” 

“I seem to have made the mood worse,” Velvet said, pouting again. 

“Top me up and it’ll get better,” Iwai found himself saying, instead of politely leaving off, after which he lost count, and at some point late into the night, was dizzyingly aware of being hauled off somewhere, his arm over Velvet’s shoulder. There was a bit of a walk, him stumbling heavily, someone chuckling into his ear. Eventually there was a bed that he got poured into, and he slept. 

He woke up abruptly in a room lit dimly by the lights of the street, stumbled out of bed, and somehow managed to get to an ensuite bathroom, just in time to throw up in the toilet. As he flushed and washed his face in the tiny sink, disoriented, Iwai yelped and nearly flinched into the shower when behind him, Velvet asked, “Feeling better?”

“Shit!” Iwai turned. Velvet was standing in the dark, his expression unreadable, and when Iwai turned on the bathroom light, Velvet blinked owlishly and looked concerned. “Where the hell is this?” 

“Cheap motel, close to Crossroads. You didn’t want to tell me where you lived, so I couldn’t pour you into a cab. I was just going to leave you in here and head off, but you woke up.” 

Iwai rubbed his eyes, bleary. How long had he been in here? He’d thought… “Uh. Thanks. Didn’t mean to drink so much.”

“It’s good for my job.” Velvet smiled. “Take care, Iwai-san. Sleep it off.” Before Iwai could say anything, Velvet had let himself out of the room, and then there was a distant ping of the lift. 

Huh. Had Iwai given Velvet his name at some point? That was dumb.

#

Somehow, Iwai took to going back to Crossroads on bad days, then on good days, too. Tsuda started joking that he was keeping a secret lover when Iwai began bowing out of drinks with the others. He wasn’t even sure what the draw was. Velvet was pretty as a button, but Iwai had fucked prettier boys before without a second thought. He’d swing by late, when there weren’t many other customers, order a drink, and talk until closing time. The murders had petered off for now, anyway. Maybe one of the other families had gotten rid of the problem.

The kid was like a ghost. Velvet laughed off Iwai’s attempts to guess his real name, let alone other personal details. It was luck that gave Iwai his first clue about Velvet-outside-Crossroads: he’d been on his way back to Minowa Station after taking care of some Family business, taking quiet streets, when he’d nearly stumbled right over Velvet, talking to an old man in an alley. 

The man stared sharply at Iwai, with a wary, hard stare, papered over with discoloured clothes and an unruly beard, several days unwashed. He flinched when Velvet abruptly stuck several thousand yen notes in his front pocket and patted him on the arm. “Go find somewhere warm to sleep,” Velvet said, his smile gentle. “Don’t smoke it, okay?”

The old man mumbled something and scuttled off, quickly disappearing out of sight. “Friend of yours?” Iwai asked. 

“Sort of. I was homeless once, and people like him were kind to me. I’ve been lucky to get work here and there, but I’m young and look like a student. So I repay the favour when I can. Funny seeing you here, Iwai-san.” 

“Seein’ a friend, down on his luck.” Iwai said, which was technically true. 

“Ah. He lives in San’ya? I could look out for him, if you like. We could be neighbours.” 

Velvet lived here…? “These parts ain’t called San’ya anymore.”

“Some people still remember.” Velvet grinned, coy again. “I’m in between shifts and Lala doesn’t need me tonight so… would you like to come over for tea, Iwai-san?” 

“That what they call it nowadays?” 

Velvet actually blushed a little, then he grabbed Iwai’s hand and tugged him down an alley. They went left at an intersection, then left again, and Iwai was losing count, the streets getting narrower. Velvet hesitated at one T-junction, tapping on his lower lip as he glanced back at forth, his eyes narrowed. 

“Lost?” Iwai inquired. 

Velvet made a noncommittal sound, then a sigh. He took Iwai left. Eventually, they ended up at a door that fed into a narrow rooming house, one that smelled not quite pleasantly of old cooking scents and too many people packed into shoebox apartments. Velvet’s room was on the top floor, which gave him a narrow strip of concrete for a balcony, one that he’d made verdant with racks of potted flowers. The room was technically more of a shack, with a portable gas stove, heater, a cot, a rack with a few clothes and neatly stacked boxes. 

Something must’ve shown on his face. Velvet leaned in close, still grinning, and tapped him on the nose. “Don’t pity me.” 

“Wasn’t going to,” Iwai lied. Maybe Velvet noticed. He laughed, and pulled Iwai down onto the cot, ignoring the loud squeaking of old springs. Iwai kissed the boy, greedy for it now, holding him down. Fingers flexed against his shoulders, close to his throat, and now Velvet was chuckling, muffled, arched over Iwai on the bed, skinny legs everywhere. They kissed with less and less urgency, until, so lulled, Iwai didn’t fight when Velvet nudged up the hem of his shirt, revealing the curled paw of a tiger. 

“It’s more intricate than I thought it would be,” Velvet said, hitching up the hem higher. “Did it hurt?”

“Some bits hurt more than others. You don’t seem surprised.”

“You were pretty drunk when I hauled you to that motel room the last time. Tried to take your shirt off when I got you onto the bed.” 

“Ah. Right.” Iwai still didn’t remember anything from that night, which was embarrassing. The room was cold, even with the heater rumbling, but Iwai didn’t really feel it as Velvet pulled off his turtleneck, the hat knocked off somewhere, not with Velvet looking him slowly up and down with fascinated curiosity. Pale fingertips traced the spine of the tiger on Iwai’s ribs, and Iwai swatted at his wrist, flinching. 

“You’re ticklish.” 

“So?”

“So Iwai-san has his weaknesses.” Velvet bent before Iwai could retort, kissing the dragonscale on his bicep, scale after scale until Iwai lost patience and rolled them over, the cot squealing under their weight. 

They sucked each other off, Iwai’s knees braced against Velvet’s shoulders, Velvet enthusiastic and sloppy, Iwai careful. This was a gift, accidentally given, perhaps, and Iwai intended to savour it. Velvet had his fingernails dug deep into Iwai’s thighs, gagging for more even when he choked, moaning when Iwai rocked down into his throat. Later, Velvet rode Iwai on a chair by the tiny desk, the most sturdy bit of furniture in the room, _laughing_ , though there was little that was joyous to the sound. Velvet laughed like hyenas laughed, an animal sound of hunger-seeking, a warning. 

“Akira,” Velvet said after, skating fingertips over Iwai’s throat, and chuckling when Iwai flinched and nudged his hand away. “That’s my name.” He smiled, his red mouth curled wide.

#

It didn’t really take long for Iwai to insist that they meet at _his_ apartment instead, if only because it was less of a fire hazard. They fucked in the kitchen, Akira’s legs hitched around Iwai’s waist, his back arched against the empty fridge; in the poky little bathroom, under the sputtering shower; inches from the balcony, on the floor, Akira’s nails clawed in his shoulders. Afterwards Iwai would sit in the balcony and smoke. Akira would clean up, curl up on the couch and talk.

“Ever thought of leaving the yakuza?” Akira asked late one afternoon, stretched luxuriously, his bared feet propped over moulting cushions. 

“Nope.” Iwai blew out a stream of smoke, away from the apartment. “You? Ever thought of goin’ back to high school?” 

“No.” 

“You could, y’know. You’re smart. There’s schools that’d take kids with problems. Could still graduate.” 

“Do you think I have a problem?” 

Iwai glanced over, but Akira’s eyes were closed, his body relaxed. “I ain’t one to judge.” 

“That’s a non-answer.” 

“You’re one to talk.” 

“Hah.” Akira smiled. “I really like you, Iwai-san.”

“Told you,” Iwai said, trying to feel gratified instead of guilty. Akira was so goddamned _young_. “Call me ‘Mune’.” 

“You first,” Akira offered. “Why won’t you leave the yakuza?” 

“They’re family.” Iwai blew out another plume of smoke. “First one I’ve had.” 

“You don’t have a problem with the things you do?” 

If only Akira knew the full truth of that. “Nah. The people who try to tell you what’s right, what’s wrong, how to live? Fuck them. Most of people you see down there live like zombies.” Iwai jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the street below. “Go to school, go to work, retire and die. What’s the point?” 

“Some would say it’s good to be an upstanding member of society.” Akira said, though his tone was facetious. He didn’t bother to wait for Iwai to answer. “So you’re in the yakuza because it’s fun?”

“That ain’t what I said.”

“Mm. But if it isn’t, then isn’t the reason you’re giving me the same as the people down below? You’re also living a life that you think you can’t escape from. You’ll tell yourself a story to make it more bearable: _I can get out of this anytime_ , maybe, or _It’ll be worth it when I’m sixty and can retire with money_. Maybe you even sometimes think that you’re happy.”

“That what you think?” Iwai scoffed. “Bein’ in the yakuza is the same as a salaryman?”

“You’re more likely to die earlier as a member of the yakuza. So I’ve heard.” Akira stretched again, rolling onto his other flank, arms dangling over the edge of the old couch. “Or end up in jail. No. I don’t think it’s entirely the same, obviously. But it’s very human to cage yourself in a prison of your own making. To think there’s no way out, that there’s nowhere else you can go.” 

“What about you? In this country, if you’ve got a criminal record and you’re not gonna bother with high school or college, what the hell can you do?” 

“Not even my parents tried this hard to get me to go to school. I’m flattered.” 

Iwai stubbed out his cigarette on the ashtray in the balcony and headed in, sitting beside Akira on the couch, bending down. Akira wrinkled his nose after they kissed, never a fan of the ashy taste, but as always, he said nothing about it. “If you need money for it—”

Akira laughed. “Aww. That’s so _sweet_.” 

“…You’re such an asshole sometimes,” Iwai muttered. “I’m serious. If you need money, I’ll help you.” 

Akira pulled him down. It was an awkward embrace, with Iwai’s feet still braced on the ground, but Akira was nuzzling his throat, his breathing unsteady. “You’re not the person I thought you’d be,” he said, after a long pause. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Iwai asked, but Akira shook his head and kissed him. After a while, Iwai forgot what he’d asked.

#

Akira disappeared. On hindsight, Iwai wasn’t surprised. Offering money had been stupid. Akira had never said it outright, but Iwai was pretty sure that Akira worked at least two jobs, if only to pay for living expenses. Akira wasn’t proud, not in the way that Iwai was used to, but offering help had broken some fragile balance between them that Iwai hadn’t even noticed. Iwai went to Crossroads for a couple of futile nights, and at the end of the second, approached Lala during a quiet lull.

“Did Velvet quit?” 

Lala eyed him warily. “He works casual shifts.”

“I’m not stalking him,” Iwai said, trying not to sound defensive. “I just want to know whether he’s all right.”

“Ah. He can take care of himself,” Lala said, which was all that Lala would say about Akira. She was protective. Iwai didn’t blame her. He wasn’t a creep. Maybe he’d pissed Akira off, or, quite likely, Akira had finally realized that fucking around with someone from the yakuza probably wasn’t going to be good for his health. He let it go. The accidental gift had been taken back, and Iwai couldn’t resent that.

#

Nakamura was found dead in a trash bin, stabbed through the heart, with none of the elaborate framing of all the other vics. Not that Iwai got to see the body. “Kaneshiro’s pissed,” the Boss said, as they sat down for a drink in the bar that fronted his office. “Thinks it’s some family’s fixer havin’ his kicks.”

“That’s stupid.” Iwai scoffed. “Far as I know, all of us are pros. Why freelance for fun? ‘Sides, it’d just piss off our own bosses.” 

“Heh. That’s what I told him.” The Boss drained his cup of shochu. “But he’s younger than most of the other _kumicho_. More paranoid, too. So watch your back.” 

“I’m always watchin’ my back.” 

“Sounds like he’s anglin’ to accuse one family or another,” the Boss said, frowning at Iwai. “So I really want this killer to be found soon, yeah? Even if he don’t create shit for us, an all out war in Tokyo’s gonna be a shitshow for everyone. Especially over somethin’ this stupid. The new Chief Prosecutor’s anglin’ for a fight.” 

“She wants a fight, she can get one.” 

The Boss shook his head. “Hopefully it won’t get that far.” 

Unfortunately, as with many things in Iwai’s life to date, things _did_ quickly get too far, which led to him being hunted around San’ya by Kaneshiro’s fixer and a dragnet of minions. He lured one into the shell of an old grocery store and another into the service tunnel of an underpass, but knifework was messy and he was starting to get tired, which was probably Itō’s strategy. Kinokami-kai’s fixer was an older man, more wily. Iwai pulled off his second set of surgical gloves after hiding the body as well as he could in a storage closet, and pulled on another set. Wetwork was messy, but with dark clothes the stains weren’t going to be noticeable. Iwai took a deep breath, and went out. So far, so good. 

Which was, of course, the point when things got weird. He found the bodies of the other minions eventually, a bloody trail of dragged corpses stashed behind dumpsters and one broken in an alley, kicked off a roof. Hunters had become the hunted. Iwai’s mouth itched for a cigarette as he looked up at a faint sliver of night sky, squinting. He grinned. Iwai _liked_ weird. 

Itō was facedown in a storm drain, the water pooling red. In death, the old man still had his fingers clenched tight around a knife, the blade bloody, a Joker card tucked into his belt. Iwai hummed to himself, and followed the tracks. Now he was hunting the hunter. Drops of blood, a bloody palm, wrapped against a street lamp. The alleys grew narrower, quieter. At the end of the killing road, a slender figure all in black, facedown. Iwai studied the area, watching for ambushes, then he shrugged, stalked over, and pushed the body over onto its back with a foot. 

“ _Akira_?” Iwai knelt hurriedly, feeling for a pulse. Akira’s eyes were closed, the mask he was wearing sitting askew. The black vest and shirt he wore were stained with blood.

#

“Thanks,” Iwai said, as the black market doctor packed up her things. Takemi pulled a face at him, and glanced over at the cot, where Akira lay sleeping.

“I owe you guys a favour,” Takemi said, brisk and efficient. “You probably aggravated the wound carrying him up here, but he’s stable. Young and healthy. He’ll recover.” 

Iwai nodded. Akira had been lucky. Itō had gotten in a gash, but it had missed everything vital. He’d fainted from blood loss. Probably. Some fixers liked coating their knives with substances to raise their odds in a fight. 

“Funny kid, though. Lots of scars.” Takemi continued, with a sharp smile. “You people get them in young now.” 

“Wasn’t much younger than he was when I joined the life. How much is it?” 

Takemi swept him with a thoughtful glance. “How about we settle that some other time? Come over to the clinic.” 

“Sure. Thanks.” Iwai locked the door after her, and when he turned back, Akira was watching him, his stare a little unfocused. “Hey.” 

“I’m… at home?” Akira sounded confused.

“Yeah.” Iwai sat down on the edge of the bed. “Sleep.” 

Akira blinked owlishly. Then he turned his head, and spotted the coat and bloodied clothes draped over a chair, the pack of cards left on the seat. He closed his eyes. “Shit.”

“Could say that. Goddamn it, kid.”

“You don’t sound that pissed,” Akira said, in between laboured, pained gasps. 

“Yeah? Well, I fuckin’ should be.” Iwai was tired, instead, tired and annoyed at himself for not noticing earlier, even though he knew that was irrational. It hadn’t been a logical leap, between the friendly, pretty boy who liked kimonos and a fucking _yakuza hunter_ , what the fuck. Even when Iwai had found the knives, the cards, and hell, a book of maps and meticulous plans in Akira’s flat, he’d almost been unable to accept it. 

Akira started to laugh, and ended up coughing instead, until Iwai fed him another painkiller and a glass of water. “Fixers are more dangerous than I thought.”

“You don’t fuckin’ say.”

“I nearly killed you that first night,” Akira said. Takemi’s less-than-market-legal drugs had burned out his brain filter, maybe. “In the motel.”

“Yeah? Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. I rather liked talking to you.” 

“And why the hell are you doin’ shit like this? For fun? Are you crazy?” 

“ _Kuromaku_ ,” Akira said, smiling dreamily. “That’s what the yakuza call their fixers, yes? A black curtain, the end of a staged play. I liked the idea. _Fixing_ the world. You do it on your _kumicho’s_ terms. I do it on mine. That’s all that’s different.” 

“Fuck, kid—”

“Are you going to kill me now?” Akira asked thoughtfully. “Or hand me over to your Boss?” 

“I should,” Iwai said, then, “god _damnit_ ,” when Akira dozed off instead of replying. 

Akira. Why did it have to be _Akira_.

#

“I had a teacher,” Akira said, when he’d gotten well enough for Iwai to move them both out of Akira’s deathtrap of an apartment to Iwai’s. “He saw me for what I was. ‘Still waters hide the monsters beneath’. He taught me how to use it.”

“Still talkin’ crazy talk to me, kid.” Iwai settled Akira down on the bed, and twisted out of reach when Akira tried to pull him over. 

“Why are you hiding me?” Akira asked, not for the first time, though he smiled now, the cheeky brat. 

“That’s my business.”

“What are you going to tell your boss?”

“Also my business.” 

“You’re too nice to be in the yakuza,” Akira said, again not for the first time, though now he wasn’t laughing. “Thanks.”

“What for?” Iwai muttered, sitting down on the edge. “Pretty sure I should be thankin’ _you_.” 

“Hmm. Don’t feel bad. I saw what I thought was an opportunity.” Akira prodded his knee. “I’m not going to stop.” 

“We’ll see.”

“The motel room wasn’t the only time I thought about killing you.” 

“Yeah? So why didn’t you?” 

“You know why,” Akira whispered, grinning in a flash of white teeth, and now Iwai understood why, knew why he’d been drawn close, closer and closer. It had been the call of kith and kin, one that the monster that sat deep within Iwai had heard and answered. Akira had disappeared, not because he’d been spooked by Iwai’s offer, but because in the language of predators, he’d been waiting for Iwai to come and play. 

“Yeah,” Iwai conceded, his eyes narrowed. “Guess I do.” 

This was going to be hell to explain to the Boss. If he ever did try. Akira chuckled, a hyena sound of savage mirth, and Iwai kissed him to smother it, ignoring the fingertips that curled over his shoulder, around the back of his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes about drag pronoun use: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-bartolomei/drag-and-pronouns_b_3384512.html
> 
> Yakuza slang:  
> itachi (鼬・いたち）: a weasel, but in the yakuza world also slang for a very good police detective  
> kuromaku (黒幕・くろまく): Literally ‘black curtain’. A fixer who works behind the scenes.  
> http://www.japansubculture.com/resources/yakuza-terminology/  
> \--  
> twitter:manic_intent  
> tumblr:manic-intent


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